Deadpool: I got rythem, i got musik!
by Devie
Summary: What happens when a shopping trip goes badly wrong!
1. Default Chapter

Hi y'all. Behold my first attempt at fanfiction..it's all no profit. Please don't sue, for I am poor..and I really don't want my ass kicked by Neil Diamond!!  
  
However if this does 'do it' for you then please review; go on. there's a cookie in it for ya!  
  
JD.  
  
p.s: for those of us familiar with the Deadpool timeline the below takes place just after Wade killed the global messiah and brought chaos to the universe (groovy!)  
  
#1  
  
New York's rarely quiet, the city that never sleeps was roaring like an insomniac with hemorrhoids. Hardly new but to one particular insomniac the sleep-deprivating bedlam was soothing. Like the kind of soothing only obtained by repeatedly slamming a fridge door on your foot to kill a headache. Wade couldn't sleep. Not that this was new. Following the Mithras debacle sleep had been elusive to the Darkman look-a-like. It isn't every day you stop the human race from entering a new stage of global harmony by killing the new messiah. But on the other hand Wade did get to kick Captain America in the nuts, showing ultimate proof that every cloud is indeed lined with silver.  
  
Monty was crashed out on the rent-a-sofa, and there was nothing in the apartment edible that didn't have fur, fluid or eyestalks growing, leaking or sprouting from it. More to the point Deadpool had watched all the Baywatch re-runs he owned and if something wasn't done soon to alleviate the problem he would be forced to start on the first series of Beverly Hills 90210 (he'd rather have the new messiah).  
  
"Ahhh, Brooklyn's finest. Some might want the earth but me, I'm content to find the nearest 7/11 and eat high-cholesterol, high-fat, high-fivin' chili- dogs until the Ravens call and ask me to play tackle. I mean did you see Siragusa?? His ass is so big it's formed its own coup. And they call it athletics, I ask you?" Deadpool, mouth overflowing like a backed up toilet, marched into the grocery store, grabbed a basket and started chucking things into it from random aisles. Wearing a trench coat and fedora over his usual black/red skintight job (holographic inducer's on the blink) no one batted an eyelid. Well, that is apart from the man at the counter and a drunk passed out in the corner, no one was in the store at half eleven on a Thursday. This was Brooklyn's east side though and the only people out after dark were usually cops, crooks or crazies. It was a hard question figuring out which one of the latter two Wade fell into.  
  
Finishing 'shopping with his eyes shut' Wade brought his basket to the checkout. The guy eyed him up and down slowly. "Ain't Halloween yet y'know".  
  
"I know - my pink bodysuit's at the cleaners. I had the Versarce number laid out but this just screamed at me from the closet. What can you do?"  
  
The guy sighed, he'd seen it all, and had scraped most of it off the sidewalk outside. "Fair enough fella. Just saying is all. Walk around in that get-up round 'ere. Who knows what gonna happen".  
  
Wade didn't need this. He hadn't slept in weeks and receiving fashion tips from a Harry Dean Stanton clone was the last thing he wanted. "Look! I'm wearing a pimp hat and an overcoat big enough to hide a badger in. I doubt it some neighborhood kids are gonna chase me from the block armed with rulers and elastic"!  
  
"Hey dude" said the guy, scanning the twenty-odd items in Deadpool's basket including a pair of bunny slippers and a folding garden chair "I'm just commenting on the social equation. That'll be $35.30".  
  
Deadpool handed over the cash before remembering the thing that had brought him out in the first place, apart from Pamela Anderson frolicking in the surf. Taking a deep breath, "Hey man. Have you got any Neil Diamond?"  
  
The guy looked up at Wade, trying to hide a grin under his sizable upper lip. "Neil Diamond eh? Nah, sorry man. The local octogenarian domino club came by half an hour ago and bought the lot. It was scary how fast those old ladies can move when they're excited. Are you a big fan?"  
  
"It's. er, it's for my roommate". Actually it was, Monty had asked Deadpool to pick him up some Diamond the next time D went out.  
  
"Roommate eh? Ok. Fair enough".  
  
"Really! It is! For my roommate! The guy has no skin, how d'you expect him to have a taste in music"?  
  
"Hey man, whatever you get up to in your own home, it's your own business. Don't feel the need to include me".  
  
Picking up his stuff (including the folding garden chair) Deadpool stormed out of the grocery. Where could he find a Neil Diamond album at midnight. On a Friday too?  
  
Now maybe some of the Mithras experience was still in Wade's memory. Or maybe his boxers were a little too snug, either way one word popped into his badly-wired greymass. 'Manhattan' he thought.  
  
'Manhattan has everything trendy, even David Letterman. Neil Diamond will be easy'. Shoving his newly paid for booty in the trunk of the 'Deadmobile' (actually a stolen '83 Eldorado) Wade pulled out and headed towards the island of the rich and famous (and depraved if you actually believe what is written in the tabloids). 


	2. 2 Wade takes Manhatten!

Hi everyone. me again. This is the 2nd chapter of our fun romp around NYC with everyone's favourite merc. This is all none-profit based so please don't sue me, review as much as you like and a special note to Dee-lite: I love your work!  
  
#2  
  
"The blood. that you spill, down your back  
  
gives me cool satisfaction that I'm done.  
  
Satisfaction that I'm number one!  
  
Cos you tried to sleep with my mother..  
  
Yes you tried to steal my - Whoa!! watch it man, hey - we're out of Jersey now y'know!"  
  
Wade narrowly missed being blindsided by a speeding pizza delivery boy, and rather than u-turning the car and following the car to it's logical (and bloody) conclusion decided that it was, in fact his night off and the faster he found that retched CD the faster he could get back across the Brooklyn Bridge and the (relatively) safety of his neighborhood.  
  
He had driven off the bridge a while back and after subjecting the car's speakers (as well as the surrounding neighborhood) to repeated playings of Groove is in the Heart by Dee-lite Deadpool decided to put his game-face on and get to the serious task of locating Monty's requested Greatest Hits of Neil Diamond. And do it quickly before the locals alerted the police to the presence of the '83 Eldorado posing as the Deadmobile and Manhattan's finest swarmed down on him like a special offer from Dunkin' Donuts.  
  
Now Manhattan isn't like Brooklyn. Manhattan has taste, style, wealth and culture (and cockroaches but we won't go there, ok!). But unfortunately it also is a popular hotspot and hangout for America's finest superheroes, supervillians, mutants, mercs, vigilantes, pseudo-vigilantes and people claiming welfare who just happen to be blessed with too much time on their hands and a wardrobe full of spandex. Deadpool had often admitted that he is as stealthy as a freight-train so when one mercenary heard Wade's own take of the 1990 pop gem he just had to put down Tao's Art of War (the Russian version), slip into something skintight and wander down onto the streets for a butchers (British slang for 'a look' but fits well with the context nonetheless).  
  
Bullseye was not a bad man really. He just killed people for money. He killed people, they died (usually), and he got paid. See? It's not rocket science. Why couldn't people understand? Bullseye knew Deadpool was around, the car and the smell was obvious but given a choice between the local bar and the 24hr record shop Bullseye would have chosen the former. But seeing Wilson 'in disguise' in a hat the size of a large pizza arguing with the owner of the record store flummoxed even the man with a target stenciled on his forehead. Deadpool didn't need to turn round when he heard the door chime ring.  
  
"I don't believe this". Wade had felt someone out there, and whoever they were they were now 'in here'. Turning around to see the white and powder blue outfit of his rival. "I mean what have I got to do just to buy one single record?"  
  
"What are you doing here Wilson?" asked Bullseye icily, advancing down the rows of vinyl with an air that exuded death, hands hovering idly over the stacks of vinyl and CD's that lay stacked in rows, all waiting to be thrown precisely in the vicinity of Wade's carotid. Wade swallowed slowly and the man behind the counter dropped out of sight clearly recognizing the first signs of a potential superhero scrap, that being when everyone starts boasting rubbish before they turn half the block to rubble. The owner had only opened the shop six months ago, now he knew why his insurance had that little 'X-factor' agreement penciled in after the tsunami policy.  
  
But back to our hero. "Me? Oh you know Bullseye, I'm running, dancing, watching Flashdance twice a night. Have you seen that flick? And I thought I was shallow".  
  
"I don't watch eighties horror Wilson, again; why are you here?"  
  
Why Wade didn't tell him the real reason why he was shopping in Bullseye's turf was a mystery. But there was something aggravating about the assassin and whatever it was it always got on Wade's nerves. Why should he explain himself? That would take effort and D just couldn't be bothered. Going for his glock in his coat was a different matter though.  
  
The glass windows of the store exploded as Deadpool's hand-cannon spat lead in Bullseye's general direction, but nothing actually connected leaving Wade with that small feeling of dread that everyone got when facing this maniac.  
  
The 'What's he gonna try and kill me with now' feeling.  
  
He got his answer and only just ducked as the entire collection of Pink Floyd on CD, un-packaged went slicing through the plywood wall like a collection of miniature circular saws.  
  
'Right, off we go' thought Wade, pulling out his other glock and swilling saliva round his mouth to loosen it up.  
  
"God, what is it? Do I attract spandex clad morons on purpose or is it some kinda allergy kickin' in?" he wondered out loud somersaulting over the easy- listening section and blasting away at Bullseye as he dived over the counter.  
  
"It's not hives, it's not crabs, it's a well advanced case of the merc-ies, the lycra strain. An affliction for which there is only one. hee-hee 'lead- based', German made, fully automatic remedy".  
  
More rapid firing - more shredding of music and worktops.  
  
"No! Wait! I know what it is, some doctor stuck a magnet in my butt a while back and didn't tell me and the thing's more powerful than the Bat-signal!"  
  
Out comes the Uzi and by this time there's very little left standing that Bullseye can physically hide behind. "Really though Bullseye, please go away. I'm not here on business. I'm not even mentioning the whole Greece incident. I'm here in the name of music, not popular music mind, but music nevertheless".  
  
By this time the room is an empty shell when it comes to freestanding objects. Everything is reduced to piles of plastic, black vinyl and bullet- ridden furniture. The owner was cowering behind what was left of his desk and Wade was standing (sweating mildly) in the middle of it all. All by his lonesome.  
  
Looking around, even taking the time to peer under what was left of the Zeppelin section Wade had to finally ask: "Err. Bullseye, where are you?"  
  
"Oi Wilson? Are these you bunny slippers?"  
  
Running outside Deadpool was met with a picture. Bullseye, sitting on the roof of the Deadmobile holding a flaming bunny slipper with one finger, his other hand playing with two pool balls like they were Chinese worry- spheres.  
  
"Oh no you don't! You are not torching my nighttime footwear you demented @#$&!!!"  
  
As he ran towards the laughing psychopath Wade noticed that someone had popped the trunk, rapidly trying to remember what he had bought a few hours ago he was suddenly hit in the throat by a six ounce pool-ball. There was an awful crack as he felt his larynx cave in.  
  
'Well, this is new' he thought.  
  
Suddenly he felt himself being rolled onto his back and Bullseye's grinning face came into view. From this angle Wade could see that Bullseye had this huge booger hanging out his left nostril, if he could talk he would say something but was just content to let it flap in time with Bullseye's exaggerated facial expressions.  
  
"Let me say something real plain Wilson. I don't like you coming here. In fact I don't like you full stop but that's another story. So I don't care why you're here but at any rate please leave. Otherwise I won't be this merciful the next time we meet. Ha! 'Merc-iful' geddit? You're not the only funny guy here y'know".  
  
Wade didn't as much nod as gurgle something un-printable.  
  
"Good boy" replied Bullseye standing up. "Ahhh, hear that Wilson? Exactly - silence. Well silence from you at any rate. Anyway have a good night 'Dead- weight', and I'm taking the folding garden chair".  
  
After a few minutes Bullseye had vanished and after a few minutes more Deadpool's larynx had re-knitted enough for him to be able to breathe (kinda important) and talk (bloody vital!). Sitting up on the asphalt and coughing up any spare fluid Wade took stock of the situation.  
  
Any chance of buying Neil Diamond here?  
  
None. The store's in tatters, its owner's about three superheroes away from an A-grade coronary and the faint wail of sirens in the air meant that Wade won't be alone for very long.  
  
Where do you find Neil Diamond in New York City? 'Is Staten Island open' Wade thought. 'It hasn't got a curfew or an anything like that? Well anyway I can't stay here'.  
  
As he said this the first police car came skidding round the corner but by the time it reached what remained of Andy's All-Nite Record Shop the Deadmobile and it's owner were long gone. 


End file.
